Freedom Climbers (Legends and Lore)

by Bernadette McDonald

  Artur had sidled up to the pair and overheard her request. He was dumbfounded. “This ‘to designate’ sounded so curious to me,” he exclaimed. “She was forcing Jurek to become a true general manager, as if we were on a big expedition. I knew this kind of management from books and all of a sudden it looked as if I would still be able to see all these mistakes and blunders first-hand.”

  There were three eligible partners for Wanda: Jurek, Krzysztof, or Artur. Jurek designated himself. And so the unofficial climbing team of Jurek and Artur was, for the time being, broken up. Jurek assigned Artur to Krzysztof. The wily Artur tried to process what had just happened. He knew that Krzysztof, even though he wasn’t as successful or as psychologically tough as Jurek, was in even better physical condition. But Jurek was more driven. Either of them would make a formidable partner. “To put it bluntly, switching partners can be compared to getting out of a Toyota diesel into a gasoline Mazda,” he finally concluded.

  By the time they reached 6800 metres, all four were climbing together. They were just 300 metres above Camp III when nightfall forced them to bivouac. Everyone was tired and Wanda still felt ill, possibly suffering from anemia, a condition that had plagued her on and off since Everest. They planned to descend the next day, rehydrate, continue to acclimatize and then come back up the mountain for a serious summit bid. Krzysztof and Artur were in their tent, preparing for bed. All of a sudden, from the neighbouring tent, came Jurek’s question: “Who is going to come with me and try to get Camp V set up tomorrow?”

  Wanda knew she wasn’t well enough acclimatized. It would be a waste of effort for her to try and climb higher now, and the summit was still more than 1200 metres above them. It was an easy decision for her; the answer was no.

  Krzysztof was not completely acclimatized either. But he was a faster climber. He could probably go higher and get safely down. Yet he was also smarting from the repercussions of the recent death of his good friend Marcel Rüedi. When Rüedi, climbing slower than Krzysztof, had opted to stay behind and rest on the way down, Krzysztof had agreed. After Rüedi died in his tracks, Krzysztof had been criticized for “leaving his partner” on the mountain, and he was worried about getting into a similar situation with Wanda. But before he could begin to respond to Jurek’s challenge, Artur shouted as loud as he possibly could, “Meeeeeeeeeeee!”

  The circumstances leading to the summit team of Jurek and Artur were curious. On the one hand, the two were clearly the most able, since they were still acclimatized from their previous climb. On the other, Krzysztof was much more experienced than Artur and was perhaps a more obvious choice for Jurek. About Jurek there never seemed any doubt: he was always the most ambitious and most willing to suffer for a summit. Annapurna in winter was no exception. Wanda was probably never a serious candidate for a fast ascent, even though she had brought most of the financing. In the end, the summit team was decided in that moment when Artur seized the day, yelling out his eagerness to go.

  Artur worried about Krzysztof, who by now had developed a big reputation. He not only climbed fast but also expected others to perform at his level. Some called him a “harsh leader” who bossed people around and wanted things done quickly—his way. He was a small person with a big attitude. Certainly bigger than Artur’s. And his ambitions were enormous. Maybe Krzysztof would hold a grudge against him. Artur was experienced enough to know that relations between big egos on big mountains can sometimes produce big problems. He remembered Kangchenjunga in January, when Krzysztof had positioned himself so carefully and craftily in order to assure himself a summit bid. And the South Face of Lhotse in 1985, when Krzysztof had left the expedition abruptly after Rafał Chołda’s death, declaring that any further effort would be a lost cause. Krzysztof knew when to cut his losses. That was clear. But for the moment, Artur was willing to risk hard feelings for the chance to climb higher with Jurek.

  Jurek and Artur didn’t stop at Camp V. On February 3, just 16 days after arriving in base camp, they reached the top of Annapurna.

  Their achievement was remarkable, not only because of the speed with which they climbed it but also because of the winter storm that hit them near the top. They were forced to climb the last bit blind, following radio instructions from below. Krzysztof remembered the moment the pair trudged into base camp, Jurek’s joy as he waved his arms, singing a popular Polish song at the top of his voice: “I love you, Life.”

  Krzysztof and Wanda tried one more time, but she was extremely weak from a lingering bronchial infection; it was only her dogged determination that initiated their second attempt. Krzysztof knew it was doomed even before they began. He saw the enormous effort it cost Wanda to try again, knowing that just a few months earlier she had been standing on the summit of K2. He understood the physical and emotional ordeal she had endured on that mountain, and he tried to convince her to ease up. “I told her a thousand times: ‘Messner went up with the Sherpas. Is he great?’”

  “He is,” Wanda acknowledged.

  “Then take the Sherpas, they will help you,” he implored. But Wanda wanted to do it her way, to be the first, to do it without help.

  “A difficult woman,” Krzysztof said, “an extraordinary woman.”

  Krzysztof had initially been impressed, even awed by Wanda. But as he grew to know her better his admiration faded. “Not an easy woman. Very hard—hard-headed,” he said.

  He told a story about when he, Jurek, and Wanda had been invited to Switzerland to participate in some medical tests on high-altitude climbers. One of the procedures, which was supposed to determine the condition of their altitude-impaired brains, was a memory test. The scientists would make statements such as, “On January 13, at 6:10 a.m., a ship with a draught of 260,000 tons sank in Hamburg harbour. Sixteen children and 31 adults drowned, among them 7 women and 15 men, 3 seamen ....At 1:10 p.m., a rescue team consisting of 47 people set out. Three rescuers died during the operation.” The climbers would then be asked to repeat it.

  “Is a seaman the same as a man?” joked Krzysztof.

  “Your brain has more holes than mine,” Jurek taunted.

  “Yes, but yours are bigger,” retorted Krzysztof.

  They played around with the questions and answers, not taking the exercise terribly seriously. That evening, Wanda appeared at their door with a slight frown furrowing her brow. “Jurek, how many of those rescuers drowned?” The two were flabbergasted and laughed at her earnestness.

  “That’s ambition!” exclaimed Krzysztof.

  He complained that she refused to follow traditional expedition rules and protocol. More important, he felt, along with quite a few others, that when Wanda was on an expedition there was always more work to be done, often for her benefit. Alek Lwow agreed that she tended to use people for her own goals on expeditions and that, particularly as she began to age, she gravitated to climbers who were better and stronger than her. She certainly wouldn’t be the first—or the last—aging climber to adopt this strategy. Even Messner admitted that if it hadn’t been for the strength of Hans Kammerlander, his partner on Lhotse, his last 8000er, he never would have summited. Krzysztof worried that, although Wanda was a star—the biggest in Poland’s climbing history—physically, she was slowing down to a dangerous level.

  The Annapurna winter defeat was bitter for Krzysztof who, in later years, developed an obsession for winter climbs. He had come very close on Annapurna but had given up his attempt for his partner, who wasn’t even his partner but Jurek’s partner. “Annapurna was one of the few peaks that I didn’t climb,” he said. “I was with Wanda. No, Kukuczka was with Wanda.”

  At the end, despite the obvious fact that she had been invited to Annapurna primarily for her money—not because they wanted to climb with her—Wanda just seemed happy to have survived.

  Dear Marion, 18 February 1987

  The events of the last three weeks seem quite straightforward when I sit and write them down, but in fact I have survived some of the worst perils of my life. The route
on Annapurna was a very danger ous one....I was in poor condition, with a bad cough....Thank you for remembering my birthday.

  Like her contemporaries, Wanda devoted her entire life to Himalayan climbing. Although her 10th-floor apartment on Sobieskiego Street in Warsaw was neither beautiful nor elaborate, it housed her equipment and provided her with a home base. The view out her window of the sea of rooftops and endless blocks of concrete was monotonous and grey. But it really didn’t matter, since she was hardly ever there.

  Marion managed her as best she could, but there was never enough time to do all the things Wanda wanted to do. Wanda’s ambitions far exceeded climbing. She recorded interviews, wrote reports, filmed and edited, lectured, and solicited sponsors—all activities essential to the life of a professional alpinist. She confided to Marion, “I live for the mountains, but I don’t live only by the mountains. I’m not just a climber, and I don’t ever want to be just a climber.”48 Still, she was realistic about her creative talents, saying, “I’m one of those who is competent, but not talented ....But I’m grateful for even the modicum of talent that I have.”49 She soon developed a pattern of overcommitment that gradually wore her down.

  Krzysztof’s career was heating up; winter climbing was becoming one of his specialties. Following the carnage of the 1986 summer season on K2, he joined Andrzej Zawada’s winter expedition in 1987. Affectionately known as the “K2-million-dollar-helicopterexpedition,” it was a lavish affair. They had arranged for their equipment to be carried in by 250 porters in October. But heavy snowfall stopped the caravan partway up the Baltoro Glacier, and they abandoned the bags halfway to the base. When the team arrived in late December, the bags were strewn everywhere. They had reached slightly higher than 7300 metres when the fierce cold winds of the Karakoram winter chased them off. Broad Peak too was a failure.

  These disappointments, plus a failed winter attempt of Nanga Parbat, didn’t deter Andrzej. He remained excited about the future of winter climbing, making one attempt on Makalu and two attempts on Nanga Parbat over the next few years. Even as he grew older and his physical prowess waned, his vision never wavered.

  It had been a busy 14 months for Jurek. In January of 1986 he had stood on the top of Kangchenjunga. In the summer he had climbed a new route on the South Face of K2. Autumn saw him complete a new route on Manaslu and, by the beginning of February 1987, the winter ascent of Annapurna. He was at number 13. Only one to go—Shishapangma.

  Located in China, Shishapangma presented some organizational and financial challenges. Four years earlier, Jurek had toyed with the idea of sneaking across the border with Voytek for an illegal ascent. But times had changed, and for this final 8000er, he wanted it all above board. Jurek and Janusz Majer first tried to organize a permit with some Chinese Mountaineering Association officials who were visiting Poland. The Chinese offered the period between November 10 and December 15, 1986. “What a date!” stormed Jurek. “Neither summer nor winter!” He and Janusz interpreted this as a diplomatic refusal, and they requested a different time. The answer was no. The next step was to accept the Chinese invitation to Beijing to continue the discussions. But there was a problem: the Chinese trip would cost money—in a currency they didn’t have.

  They packed for the big city: jacket, tie, and their very best shoes. Once in Beijing, the two indulged in sightseeing tours in a comfortable Mercedes bus. They slept soundly in a good hotel and ate some excellent meals. But on the main issue—how to get and pay for the permit—they made no progress at all. They finally managed to schedule a meeting with the top official on the last day of their visit. The night before the meeting, Jurek and Janusz hatched their plan: they would invite some Chinese climbers to Poland and offer to cover all the costs in Polish złotys. In return, they would ask for the Shishapangma permit.

  The Chinese official was guarded with his response. “Ah yes, this could be of some interest to China,” he said. “It is very important for Chinese climbers to gain experience in other mountain ranges. You would cover all the costs in Poland?”

  “Yes, absolutely. All the costs. It would be a great honour for us,” Janusz enthused.

  Jurek chimed in at this opportune moment. “Perhaps you could include the costs of this ‘organizational’ week in Beijing as part the Chinese contribution to our partnership?”

  The Chinese official looked up from his papers with a serious expression. In the spirit of international cooperation, he nodded. “Yes, gentlemen, that would work.” They shook hands.

  Relieved, Janusz and Jurek topped up their budget by inviting a number of foreign climbers to Shishapangma. And so it transpired that Jurek’s Shishapangma expedition of summer 1987 included French, American, Mexican, and British climbers, along with Janusz, Artur, and Wanda.

  A succession of storms confined them to base camp, where Janusz was struck down by a particularly virulent case of altitude sickness. The rest tucked in to a wide range of international cuisine, and Jurek endeared himself to all the other climbers with his cooking skills. They were a merry lot, getting along with a minimum of posturing. They rested, slept, visited, read, and ate as much as possible, waiting for their chance to climb.

  When the weather improved they all headed up the mountain. With such a diverse group of people, all with different goals and ability levels, they drifted off to their individual routes and camps, a situation that suited Jurek. He seemed quite relaxed on his last 8000er, confident in his abilities and no longer burdened by the race with Messner.

  Jurek wanted to climb Shishapangma by a new route up the West Ridge and then ski down the peak, just to add interest. Wanda wanted to become the first Pole to climb it (she was second, just after Ryszard Warecki), and was on the standard route with Carlos Carsolio and several others. Artur was ambivalent about being on a mountain with Wanda again. He was young and strong and judged her as already past her prime, despite her achievements and her standing in the community. But he needn’t have worried about being bogged down by Wanda; he was teamed up with Jurek.

  Artur and Jurek made the first ascent of the West Ridge, crossing the previously unclimbed West Summit, then continuing over the Central Summit and along the connecting ridge to the Main Summit. This was the first time the sharp ridge connecting the Central and Main summits had been crossed. When they arrived on top on September 18, they were alone. It was already quite late in the day, but they were used to high-altitude bivouacs. As the two friends stood on top, peaceful and quiet, the sun sank below the horizon, releasing a kaleidoscope of hues: salmon, terracotta, vermilion, ochre, and mauve.

  The normally taciturn Jurek was finally moved by the experience. After eight years of wandering around in the highest mountains on Earth, he had done it. Never in his most daring dreams had he imagined such a feeling of joy as he stood on the summit of his final 8000er, the last bead on his “Himalayan rosary,” as he called it. If Goethe was right when he wrote in his Theory of Colours that the “highest goal that man can achieve is amazement,” Jurek had succeeded.

  A couple of days later, after Jurek had skied down the mountain, everyone celebrated at base camp with a flag-festooned cake to mark his success. Fourteen flags for 14 summits. Messner sent a telegram to Jurek, saying, “You’re not number two. You’re magnificent.” And so he was. His record on the big peaks was second to none—not even to Messner’s—for he had chosen to do them in very sporting style. The “hard way,” as some put it. And in half the time.

  Surrounded by his friends from home and from other parts of the world, Jurek was perfectly content. He had achieved his dream. Even more important, he was in the mountains he loved.

  In sharp contrast, Wanda’s reaction to her own fine performance on Shishapangma revealed scant satisfaction: “It’s a wonderful moment, when I feel utterly exhausted and utterly happy at the same time. I’m delighted to have another damned peak over and done with, but that moment at the summit is also the end of something—the signal to turn about and begin to return to ordinary life
. Whenever you achieve something, you’re standing at the end of another road ....”50 Perhaps she was thinking of a future road for herself, one that involved more creativity and less brute strength.

  Ewa Matuszewska suggested that she might consider buying a shop to sell outdoor clothing and equipment. With her fame, it would almost certainly be a success, and it could provide a career after her climbing days were over. Wanda scoffed at the idea and accused Ewa of trying to force her into a life as a shopkeeper.

  But Wanda’s brother Michael knew she was considering other possibilities. She had floated the idea of buying an old, abandoned castle, fixing it up and operating it as a high-priced hotel. Not a bad idea, thought Michael, but not for Wanda. He knew she could never settle down long enough to make it work. He had watched for years as she had drifted about, dropping in to the family home just long enough to reconnect between expeditions. He was amused by these events, for his mother, who was thrilled by her fame, would explode in a flurry of action, assembling the rest of the family. “Wanda’s coming. Wanda’s coming!” They would troop in for the obligatory family dinner and then wouldn’t see her again for months on end.

  By 1987 Wanda had become increasingly reflective about her dangerous lifestyle. “I take all my emotions to the mountains with me,” she wrote to Marion, “so any fighting I do is with myself, not the mountain....What you can’t do is dominate the mountain. Mountains never forgive mistakes, which is why I keep up a dialogue with them....When I’m up in that thin air, suffering at every step, I’m able to reach deep into my inner self and in those moments I have a certainty that someone is helping me.”

  She was expressing what so many Himalayan alpinists feel at altitude—a rational acceptance of danger, combined with a psychic bond to a benevolent higher power, that elusive third man. There are countless stories from extreme situations on windblown ridges and avalanche-scoured walls in which alpinists draw on a supernatural power that appears to come from without. Voytek, Jurek, and Krzysztof had all experienced the sensation numerous times. As Greg Child explained, “Going to blow-your-mind high altitude creates a world inside of ourselves.”